


The Fall from Heaven Is a Long One

by JewelShards



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Angels, Friendship, Gen, Injury Recovery, Sam may or may not have a crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewelShards/pseuds/JewelShards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling from heaven was a big change so Balthazar just needs time to adjust to being affective with a gun and for Sam to patch him up when he fails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall from Heaven Is a Long One

Balthazar was a lot of things. He was snobby for starters. He was selfish at times, snarky, calculating, high maintenance, much too experienced with the finer luxuries of human living and absolutely clueless about the oddest things. Like how he failed to see how wrong it was to ‘un-sink’ the Titanic even after being told why. Yeah, he was a lot of things. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. Castiel _should_ know it. Hell, everyone who had the pleasure of meeting the angel knew it. But tonight, as Sam ran a washcloth over Balthazar’s bruised shoulder and then proceeded to dab at the angry gash on his bicep, he discovered things that no one knew at all. The lamp beside them flickered as Balthazar sat quietly on the bed, one leg hanging off the side, hands in his lap and Sam in a cheap office chair as he tended to the angel’s wounds. Thankfully they weren’t as bad as they could have been. He could have died. Again. Sam furrowed his brows and blew a lock of chestnut colored hair out of his field of vision, eyes never once leaving the wounds as he cleaned. Even when his cell phone rang, even though he knew it was probably Dean calling to tell him not to expect him until the morning so he could hook up with some busty red head, he didn’t answer. Besides, he would call again if it was actually an emergency. Even when the rainstorm raging outside caused the lights to go out for a few seconds, he didn’t move. Instead, he just let his arm fall to the side and waited it out until it came back on so he could continue. Because at that particular moment nothing else was as important. Nothing else mattered as much. All he wanted to do was fix the angel in front of him so he could go back to being his arrogant, snarky self like when they first met but for some reason the more blood he removed and the more wounds he managed to bandage up, the more broken Balthazar seemed to become. All that was missing was the tears. Sam knew Balthazar was too strong to cry. Too proud. His grace was gone, the injuries reminded them both of the fact, and so seemingly his spirit with it. Sam stopped his ministrations and reached over with his long arms and grabbed the needle and thread.

“Have you ever had stitches?” Sam asked and he knew it was a stupid question because of course Balthazar never had stitches but he didn’t know what else to say to strike up a small conversation and at that point, after two uncomfortable hours he felt like if the silence wasn’t broken soon, like right now, then it would most definitely suffocate them both – or at the very least himself. Plus, it unnerved him to hear nothing but silence while being in the same room with the guy since the other always had something to say whether it be helpful (on occasion), sarcastic, witty or just plain unpleasant. Silence and Balthazar should never be in the same room together. Balthazar slowly blinked and turned those blue orbs up to look at Sam for the first time in hours and Sam could feel his stomach pitting. Never before had he seen him look so utterly … defeated and disheveled in spirit.

“Don’t be silly, you moose.” Balthazar drawled out and tiredly raised a hand up to snap his fingers.

To anyone who didn’t have a clue, it would look like a casual motion that held no real meaning. But Sam knew better. It had been three weeks since they had discovered that Balthazar had, indeed, lost his grace and was now officially fallen after mysteriously showing up two-hundred miles out in the middle of nowhere in North Dakota. And Sam, the ever observant one, concluded that every time Balthazar snapped his fingers it was because for a split second, he regained a bit of hope that his grace had returned and that hurt Sam more than anything. Dean would label it as him having a ‘bleeding heart’ but he preferred to think of it as just having an average amount of empathy; something his brother lacked at times. But even though he’d prefer to think of it as that, he knew there was more to it. That his empathy didn’t stem from the fact that he was just sensitive towards these things but because he felt a connection with the angel that even he didn’t feel like he could properly explain. And even though he couldn’t explain it, it didn’t make him uneasy. Just perhaps baffled if anything.

Sam tied a knot on the end of the thread with one smooth well practiced movement and snatched a bottle of liquor off the carpeted floor, holding it out to Balthazar. “Here” He said and frowned when the angel silently declined with a wave of his hand. Balthazar never declined a drink – especially quality whiskey. “You might need it you know … to take the edge off when I start since you’ve never-” That was as far as he was able to go when suddenly, Balthazar’s head snapped in his direction, eyes clouded with rage and he shot up off the bed, slapping the bottle out of Sam’s hand and causing him to start, eyes wide and brain trying to process what could’ve made the male who was just so quiet, snap.

“What are you trying to say?” His tone was clipped but oddly calm, a stark contrast to the livid expression on his face. “Could you be trying to imply that I’m weak? Well honey, I have news for you. If you and your dimwitted brother can withstand whatever amount of pain that …” Balthazar trailed off, the fire in his eyes somewhat distinguishing as he didn’t know what to call it. “…procedure brings then I most certainly can as well.”

Sam was taken aback. Why on earth would Balthazar think he was trying to call him weak? It wasn’t about being weak at all! After a tough hunt, he and Dean would sometimes down a bottle before starting the agonizing process of patching each other up so he thought maybe Balthazar would want to do the same thing. Sam let out a sigh and shook his head. All he was trying to do was be considerate.

“I’m not calling you weak, Balthazar. If you don’t want it then fine.” He said, lightly nudging the bottle away with his sneakered foot and sat back down. “Sit back down ... uh, please.” He added as an afterthought and was relieved when Balthazar reclaimed his spot on the edge of the bed. Sam ran a hand through his chestnuts locks as he tried to get back into ‘work mode’ and rolled his shoulders. He had to admit, while he wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to giving stitches to the dirty blonde. Normally he wouldn’t have a problem with it but for some reason, the idea of inflicting any level of pain – even if it was unintentional – on the angel sitting in front of him didn’t sit right with him even if it was to help heal a bad wound. Sam examined it, lightly pushing and prodding around the affected area, every once in a while whispering a soft apology whenever the other winced or tensed. Out of all the cuts Balthazar received tonight on their hunt, this one had to have been the worst. It was an angry red, jagged and inflamed and the beginnings of a bruise were starting to develop, turning the area around it an ugly shade of yellow and purple. Sam remembered the moment when Balthazar received that cut to his side. He’d been too busy quite literally fighting his own demons for it to fully register but after all was said and done and Dean came in limping from around the corner, Sam realized that maybe, just maybe the injury he had only sort of seen Balthazar receive was worse than he originally thought. At that moment Sam’s eyes immediately darted around the dark cottage and honestly it felt like it took him too long to find the blonde but when he did he couldn’t conceal a wince as he rushed to the fallen figure, Dean striding right beside him. He was almost afraid to touch him as Balthazar curled in on himself, clutching his side, hands becoming soaked in blood and chest heaving up and down from either adrenaline or pain. He guessed it was a mixture of both. Sam blinked, storing the memory away and pressed his lips together as he laid a palm on Balthazar’s side.

“Okay, lay down on your good side. It’ll make this easier.”

Balthazar nodded and laid down, grunting as the wound stretched and pulled from his movements. Silence fell between them again and Sam inhaled, poising the needle and pushing it through, momentarily glancing up when he felt the other grow rigid under his hands. He wanted to say something, to tell him to relax and that’d it would be over soon but he didn’t want Balthazar taking anything the wrong way again so he pushed forward, making one stitch after another, trying his best to get it over with as quickly as possible. When he finished, he tied the end and cut the remaining string off, tossing the needle in a trash bin.

“Balthazar, I’m done.”

He knew the blonde probably already figured that out himself but he said it anyway just for the sake of having something to say. There were so many things he wanted to ask the angel. One of those things being, ‘are you okay?’ but he was almost certain that asking something so … whatever … would get him either a negative reaction or a fake, totally not reassuring reply of ‘peachy’. At least, that’s what always happened with Dean. Blinking, Sam raised his arms above his head and stretched, pushing his shoulders forward and sighing as they popped. It was getting late and the aches and pains from today’s hunt were starting to kick in. The brunette pushed a lock of hair out of his face as he studied the still figure in front of him. Balthazar hadn’t even shown that he had heard when Sam said he was finished with the stitches. Had he fallen asleep right after it was over?

“Balthazar” He said, a bit gently and stood up to get a view of the side of his face. If he was sleeping he wouldn’t bother him. Sam leaned over ever so slightly, his tall figure towering over the still form. He let his gaze travel over those short messy locks of golden hair with hints of brown and it looked surprisingly soft. It almost made him want to run his fingers through it just to see if it was really as soft as it appeared to be. He would never do that though. If he ended up giving in to even a quarter of those seemingly innocent impulses when it came to the angel, he knew Balthazar would probably break both his arms and toss him halfway across the globe. Sam frowned, well he would if he had his grace and the jaw dropping abilities that came with it. Right now Balthazar – at best – could possibly give him a nice size bruise and a broken nose. The three of them had discovered that without the angel’s grace, his vessel had only an average amount of strength suitable for a mortal male who was in fact, not a hunter. Which wasn’t surprising because that’s exactly what his vessel was - a normal guy. Sam furrowed his brows, his stomach tightening as a twinge of guilt began to set in. He had known that Balthazar couldn’t fire a weapon to save his life yet him and Dean still sent him in there. He should have told him to stand watch by the car until they came back but then again Balthazar wasn’t an adolescent. Hell, he was way older than himself, Dean, Bobby and his father combined. Sam let his gaze travel down the male’s face and his eyes widened when he saw the anguished expression donning those normally pleasantly striking features. He watched, his heart tightening. Balthazar’s shoulders looked painfully tense and Sam steeled himself as he reached out a hand and touched the blonde’s arm.

“Balthazar …” He called gently, his soft brown irises filling with concern and a hint of curiosity. “Are you okay? Do the stitches …”

“ _Yes_ , it's the stitches Sam.” Balthazar bit out through his teeth, his voice coming out muffled against his fist. “Get the hell away.”

Sam straightened then, shaking his head as he walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down. “I could leave but I think that deep down … you actually want me to stay so I’m sitting right here and you’re going to tell me what’s wrong. Because ... Because I know sarcasm when I hear it.”

His stubborness reminded him that holy shit did Dean hate it whenever he did this to him, often saying that he ‘wasn’t going to have a chick-flick moment’ or he didn’t need to have a ‘heart-to-heart thank you very much’ and to ‘just cut it out’. But Sam always persisted because that’s just the kind of person he’d always been and he hated seeing people struggle so if talking would ease the pain then he would be there to help. Sam sighed as he glanced from the 'vintage' wallpaper decorating their motel room and back to Balthazar. He would wait. He had the rest of the day afterall. 

Minutes slowly passed, neither one of them budging but eventually Balthazar let his hand fall from his face then, exhaling a heavy breath as if Sam was just being the bane of his exsistance and all he wanted to do was sleep, which Sam probably _was_ at the moment and he probably _did_. "It'll take some time before I'm profient with handling a gun." Was all that was said from him, his clipped tone long gone as fatigue from today's events smothered his tongue. 

_It'll take some time to adjust to being human. It'll take some time before Castiel is forgiven.  It'll take some time to get over this anger._

Those were all the things Balthazar didn't say that Sam managed to pick up from that simple statement. He was good at discovering underlying meanings beneath small truths and deciphering codes because Dean was practically the _Chesire Cat_ in human form when he wanted to be so not feeling constantly confused when the guy was troubled took a lot skill as well as trial and error. Therefore he didn't push for anymore out of the fallen angel but instead walked over to the study desk, strolling the office chair behind him and plopped down in front of his laptop. 

"Yeah" Sam replied and it was barely noticable but the tension in the air seemed to lift at the light and accepting tone in his voice. "Knowing you, you'll get the hang of it faster than most." He purposely avoided tacking on words like: people, angels, and smartly strayed away from saying,  _faster than most would in your situation_ because if Balthazar was anywhere near as prideful as Dean (which he undoubtedly was), he knew the blonde would snap or just shut down, foul mood and all. He heard the familiar rustling of sheets and a small grunt behind him and it took all of his willpower to not turn around with a smug grin plastered on his face when the sound of a bottle uncapping resonated through the room. He  _knew_ Balthazar wouldn't be able to stay away from a bottle of good whiskey no matter how stubborn he wanted to be. Especially when the pain from the stitches settled in. 

Balthazar snorted and Sam could almost feel those blue orbs warming up at the hidden, _you'll be alright; it's okay_. "You flatter me."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea what kind of relationship just was supposed to be but it turned out pretty cool anyway, haha. Maybe like a romantic sort of light friendship thing that's not romantic but could very easily or not so easily turn into one because of implied infatuation. Like I said, I don't know. I even confused myself!


End file.
